


One Year Since You've Looked at Me

by Wolvesandwerewolves



Series: What's in a Name? [3]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic, White Collar
Genre: M/M, Mentions of Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 06:41:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13805625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolvesandwerewolves/pseuds/Wolvesandwerewolves
Summary: It's the first time Neil has gotten a call from an unknown number since Baltimore. He wasn't expecting to hear from his brother, who was currently residing in a maximum security prison.





	One Year Since You've Looked at Me

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, I am on a roll, you guys. *puts on sunglasses in a dramatic fashion* 
> 
> PS--Title to the tune of One Week by Barenaked Ladies. And now I have it stuck in my head. ;)

It's been months. It's obvious that summer is approaching. The sky is on fire tonight; the sunset is orange, a searing, burning pink, bruising around the edges of the burnt red sun. The air is humid, stifling in the heat. It sticks to him like perspiration after a rough game. The armbands itch, trapping sweat and body heat. He takes them off, lays them on his lap.

The Exy season is over. It's two weeks until summer break. Last year, Neil stayed with Wymack. Now that Andrew doesn't need to protect Kevin anymore, he thinks they'll go to Columbia. It will be a full house, with him, Andrew, Aaron and Nicky—and, for at least part of the summer, Erik. Kevin could come, but he and Coach need time. Besides, Neil doubts he would be willing to leave the court for more than two days at a time.

The knife marks on his face and arms are fading into pink, angry scars. The burn marks aren't far behind. The skin is raised, but smooth where it was burned, melted. It almost feels like wrinkled glass. Neil runs his fingers gently over his face, his knuckles; a phantom touch. In some areas, he can't feel his fingers brushing over the surface of scarred skin. But he can still move his fingers, still make a fist, and he can still play.

He's alive.

Neil doesn't recognize the number on his phone. He thinks of his birthday, of a countdown from an unknown number telling him how many days he had left to live. But he survived that day. Nathan Wesninski didn't.

 _Your father is dead,_ he tells himself. The voice in his head sounds like Andrew's. It's calming.

Andrew is at a therapy session with Aaron and Bee. He won't be long, Neil knows. They didn't make any verbal plans to meet on the roof afterwards, but they both know each other well enough to show up, anyways. Neil should wait for him.

But Neil has never been good at sitting still.

He lights a cigarette, watches the sunset. He presses the green button and listens as it rings. The person picks up almost immediately. Neil's heartrate quickens in time with his fingers tapping rapidly on the edge of concrete.

“Abram.”

Neil breaths out harshly. He should have known.

“How did you get a phone?” he asks.

“C'mon, it's me. Did you expect anything else?”

Behind him, a door squeaks open. Neil turns to watch as Andrew walks over to him, lighting his own cigarette. He sits down next to Neil, but doesn't acknowledge him. Neil can tell he's paying attention, though. He always is.

“You're in maximum security,” Neil says.  
  
Andrew turns his head at his words. He acts calm, but he taps a little too harshly on the cigarette when he dislodges the clump of ash on the end. He, along with everyone else, remembers Baltimore all too well. They're all waiting for something, even if Ichirou promised him safety. He studies Neil; his body language, his expression, the tone of his words. In less than a minute, Andrew reaches the conclusion that Neil is calm. He shrugs, turns back towards the sunset. Neil smiles.

“Someone owed me a favor. I have a little bit of time.”

 _Owed me a favor._ Neil’s brother is in a maximum security prison and he is under no illusions that any part of that is easy. He thinks of Andrew, bloodied and laughing, half naked and abused. He thinks of Neal's laughter. He thinks of the scars covering his arms that Andrew keeps covered. He thinks of Neal's four year prison sentance.

“What kind of favor?”

Neil doesn't think his voice is strangled, but when Andrew turns back to look at him again, his eyes are dangerous, intense. Neil sets the cigarette on the ground and holds his hand out, palm up. Andrew takes that for the honest reassurance that it is and wordlessly sets his hand in Neil's, curling his fingers in between his. His thumb runs over the scars in the same way Neil's own fingers did earlier.

“Not the kind you're thinking of,” Neal says. Neil squeezes Andrew’s hand, relieved. Andrew looks away again, but squeezes back. ”I gave a guy a tattoo. It was one of Salvador Dali's elephants—personally, I would have gone with something by Raphael, or maybe Degas—"

“I wasn't really expecting to hear from you for another three years,” Neil says, interrupting because he knows that if he lets him, Neal will go on for hours about art.

“I would never give you the luxury,” his brother says.

Neil wants to roll his eyes. But Neal can't see that and the effect would be wasted on Andrew. Instead, he mutters, “It is a luxury.”

He can hear Neal's grin in his voice. “Enjoy paradise while you can, then, Abram. Speaking of, is it paradise? I heard what happened. News floats in here broken and slowly, but it's still news.”

Neil looks over at Andrew. Andrew must see him out of the corner of his eye, because he turns his head and stares back. They watch each other silently for a minute, gazes never wandering away. Andrew's hair is peachy and golden in the diminishing sun; his eyes are molten.

He blows a puff of smoke in Neil's face and turns back towards the sky. Neil grins.

“Yeah,” he says, because he knows Neal is waiting patiently, but he's not sure how much time he has. “I like it here. My father is dead. I'm not. I'm doing what I love and I've actually made friends.”

“I'm glad,” Neal says. “I'm proud of you. You've come a long way, Abram.”

Neil can't help himself. “I wish I could say the same.” He doesn't mean it, not entirely—Neal is no more a criminal than he is, except through his excitement at each law broken. But those are Neal's acomplishments and he's proud of his brother, too.

“Don't be mean. I know why the caged bird sings.”

“Do you sing?” Neil shrugs as Andrew raises an eyebrow at him. Silently, he's sure Andrew is saying _The fuck, Josten?_ He grins.

“If you're asking me to sing you a lullaby, you're outta luck. The guard's about to make his rounds. Stay safe, Neil.”

“You, too,” he says, and hangs up. He sets the phone down next to his armbands, kicks his feet out in front of him.

“Who was that?” Andrew asks, blowing out smoke.

Neil takes his time answering. He told Andrew and the foxes almost everything, but some secrets aren't his to tell. Andrew, however, deserves to know the truth, and Neil is done lying to him. He'll be vague, he decides, but the next time he talks to Neal, he'll ask him how much of his story he's okay with sharing.

“Nathan Wesninski was married to someone else before my mom,” he says. “They had a kid together, but he didn't grow up in Baltimore.”

Andrew accepts that without a reaction. He doesn't ask questions. Neil wonders if this is part of their truth game. He's not sure what to ask, though, and he almost wants to keep talking. He misses his brother.

“He's always existed in letters and long distance phone calls,” Neil says quietly. “But I don't think I would have survived without him.”

“What's his name?” Andrew asks, willing to play along for however long Neil wants to feel nostalgic and sentimental, even if Neil has never mentioned a brother before.

Neil smiles. “Neal.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, you guys! As usual, please comment, leave kudos. :) 
> 
> I hope you like it! 
> 
> I'm thinking of veering off canon for the end of Season Three WC. I don't want Neal to leave, escape to paradise, so I'm thinking of either putting Keller back into play or someone loyal to Wesninski (or something similar.) Comment, message me, let me know you think! Expect Neap whump--nothing too bad, just some excitement. Its sort of an excuse to get everyone together in a forced meeting. :)
> 
> Talk to me on Tumblr -- Wolvesandwerewolvesbaby or Ohneilthefoxholecourt
> 
> Thanks guys!


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